Every Storm Runs Out of Rain, Doesn’t it?

I used to be the person people called when life fell apart.

I never imagined one day I would become the emergency.

I had just lived through something I had spent years helping other people survive, and on top of the complete dumpster fire my life was at the time, I had all but accepted defeat.

I was walking alone in the rain at midnight.
No phone.
No ride.
No one coming.
Hurt, confused, across town, and locked out of the doors I had always left open for everyone else.

I remember looking up between the tears and immense anger, searching for my daddy like I often do, but this time felt different.

I was at a familiar crossroad except for the first time since I was 12 years old, I was leaning toward the easier one.

And out loud, I said:

“Beam me up, Daddy.
I am ready when you are.”

Because I didn’t want my heart to darken. I had fought it for 35 years and remained light, and the only way I could see that not happening was to tell him I was ready.

I knew even in my darkest hour that my clarity on who I was wasn’t wrong, and it would be worse for my children to watch me abandon my morals than it would be for them to bury me.

Then like lightning to an old oak tree, he sure did “beam me up,” just not in the way I asked.

All of a sudden a weight lifted and I thought:

“Wait a minute.
I AM WHO I AM NO MATTER WHAT.

Get it together, Peanut.
This is bad.
Real bad.

And I don’t know how or when…
but we are going to be okay.

Do not abandon your side of the street.”

Almost immediately, the self-pity started leaving my body.

It was after midnight in a part of town where I probably should have been afraid, and I remember thinking:

“Not even a stranger stopped to ask if I needed help…
or even tried to kidnap me.
How pathetic.”

I had always been the “Mary-Ann” of the group.
The momma bear.
The “I’m fine no matter what” friend.
The one people called when everything fell apart.

So when I watched my phone drop to 1%, I did something I had never done before.

I called my best friend for help.

She said no.

My phone died mid-sentence.

The next day she found me and came to pick me up.

I could tell she was distressed and overwhelmed.

Part of me wanted to say no.
Part of me wanted to harden.

But I got in the car anyway because I had a feeling I was needed, which proved true less than ten minutes down the road.

I could almost hear my daddy saying:

“Show up.
Look alert.
Keep your mouth shut, Peanut.”

So for once, I did.

I kept my mouth shut about my emotions, my situation, and my hurt feelings.

I think I will probably always love deeply, even after people give me reasons not to.

Later, I learned she had been spreading lies about me while knowing exactly what had happened.

Oddly enough, that night clarified something in me more than it destroyed me.

I realized something I had always said was actually true down to my core:

I am who I am no matter what.

Young or old.
Drunk or sober.
Poor or doing alright.

I am who I am.

I am Freddie’s daughter.

And I’m damn proud of it.

Southern Peanut